


Like A Thousand Suns

by miladylen



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Post-Book: Carry On, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-25 04:45:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14969399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miladylen/pseuds/miladylen
Summary: Set several years after they graduate Watford. The World of Mages is at war and Simon and Baz are on opposite sides. Basically, Carry On never happened. Baz was not kidnapped. No visiting. No truce. No kiss. They are still 'enemies'. But don't worry, this has a happy ending.





	Like A Thousand Suns

**Author's Note:**

> Dreams are in bold. Flashbacks, in italics.

SIMON

Fire closes in all around me. The trees look more monstrous as the leaves turn red, then turn to ash. Branches snap off and I never know if it’s from the fire or someone’s curse bouncing off. I don’t have time to think about it. I run. I have to warn everyone. What was pretence of peace has turned out to be an ambush. And I can’t let it become a massacre. There was a time when I would have thought the Humdrum had gotten in people’s heads, that he could not only suck the magic out but control it, aim it at his chosen target. Me. And anyone who follows me.

But the Old families don’t need any push. Their hatred cannot be created by an evil succubus. Unless you count Baz furiously whispering in their ears. I’m sure whatever the Old families thought about me is now worse since Baz sits on his rightful throne as heir to the house of Pitch. It’s his war now. His and mine.

Mine since the Mage tried to steal my magic. Since Penny stopped him. Killed him. As if he could use my magic to defeat the Humdrum. I almost believed him. I would have let him take it all if Penny hadn’t intervened. It made sense when he explained it. He could control my magic much better than I could. Anyone could, Baz liked to remind me. But Penny had been right. _I_ was the Chosen One. The Humdrum chose _my_ face. Only I could defeat him. It had to be _me_. Right? My magic existed for a reason. And whatever that may be, it was bestowed upon me. It was my burden.

I hoped so. Because, with the Mage gone, who else had enough powerful magic to fight the Humdrum? With the Mage gone, it _had_ to be me!

 

BAZ

I set the fire. The Old families would say I was driven by rage, that I had my mother’s temper. They would applaud my audacity. I set the fire and all I could hear around us were screams. I set the fire and the forest lit up, flames and smoke engulfing everything.

My father would call me a fool. A reckless fool. Yet privately approve of my boldness to stand among that which could easily kill me. But the Pitches dance with death. And I have mastered the steps. My fire obeys me. It wouldn’t dare hurt me unless I commanded it. It wouldn’t dare touch anyone unless I commanded it.

I find myself commanding a lot these days. And why shouldn’t I? I was born for this. To uphold my mother’s legacy the way my father couldn’t. He was always more of a politician than a fighter anyway. He preferred to let me worry about the fighting, even though Daphne argued I was still too young. So did Fiona, but I suspect it had more to do with her wanting to have her shot at the head of the table. And why shouldn’t she? She has just as much of a right as me to claim the crown. But, for once, I’m glad she’s not here at the reins with me. If she were, she’d blow the fire out and knock me unconscious before dragging me out kicking. I can hear her screech. _Do you have a death wish?_ How absurd. I don’t have to wish for it.

I know what I’m doing. I’m in control. I set the fire and people miles away would see the smoke. 

 

SIMON

I had many years to think about how the showdown between Baz and I might go. The Final Battle. Me with my sword, him with his wand. He’s better at magic than I am. He’s fitter than I am, stronger, quicker. Vampire bastard. While all I have on my side is _the courage of conviction_ , as Penny calls it. I am on the right side. The world of mages is at stake. And I have to defend it. I fight to rid the world of the Humdrum. Baz only wants his family back in power. With the Mage gone, he’s the obvious choice. Even I know he’s more than powerful enough, but he would put a stop to all the reforms; if not him, than his parents would surely lobby for it. That’s why they cannot win. I have to stop him.

He’s standing in the middle of the blazing forest, burning trees all around him. Who else would be responsible for this? His wand is pointed at me, but I can’t even react. _He’s responsible for this_ , a quiet voice keeps repeating. He’s cruel and arrogant. But my thoughts are consumed by the knowledge that he’s flammable. That he’s the bravest arsehole alive to face me at a disadvantage. Or, probably most likely, he thinks now we’re finally evenly matched. Tosser.

Baz is waiting. _Waiting_. For what? He would think it fair to wait for me, for me to put up a proper fight. So his victory can be sweeter.

 

BAZ

I don’t want to fight him. I always knew I would have to, but I figured out years ago that, when the time came, I wouldn’t be able to. I mean, I would be _able_ to. Even tossing aside the unwanted advantage of being a bloodsucking monster, Snow cannot control his magic at the best of times. At the worst of times? He could go off, I guess, but I suspect he’s thinking about all the people who would be hurt beside me. Bloody hero.

I’m waiting for him to summon his sword, but he’s too busy staring at me. In my fantasies, this would be the moment when he starts running and kisses the daylights out of me, confessing he’s always dreamed of doing so. But no, he looks worried, scared. _The Chosen One is afraid of me_ , I say out loud with my trademark smirk. 

His eyes turn furious. Good. His sword glints in his hand. We’re still standing at a distance. I don’t want to advance and, for some reason, he doesn’t. If this were anybody else instead of me, his hesitation would kill him.

“Come on, Snow,” I shout. “Take your shot.”

He frowns and starts walking slowly. “Fight me,” I say.

But he doesn’t. He stops. I roll my eyes and, _Crowley_ , I think I might actually need to motivate the idiot when I hear a yell behind him. I don’t even have time to tear my eyes away from Snow when whoever it was throws a spell my way. I don’t have time to shield myself. But Snow does. 

Because the spell disintegrates short of touching me and instead lodges itself inside Snow’s chest when he found himself directly in between the spell and me.

 

SIMON

I don’t hear the curse. All I see is a red light shining on Baz, directed towards his chest, and my legs spring into action. All I can think about is _this is wrong_. This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen. This isn’t how Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch dies.

The blast is sharp; one second, heat rises as I’m nervously rushing towards my nemesis and the next, my body turns cold. This is powerful magic intended to paralyse and make it impossible to fight back. My legs give out and I’m stumbling, struggling to stay up when I hear Baz’s scream.

 

BAZ

I shout his name. _Simon. SIMON._ I run up to catch him while my wand waves in the direction of my would-be assailant. Without blinking, he drops to the ground as I keep Simon from doing the same. I drop my wand. His head is on my chest and I reach my hands towards his cheeks.

“Snow,” I whisper harshly. “Why did you do that?”

“He was going to kill you,” he answers. As if it’s so simple. As if Simon Snow risking his life to save my dark wretched soul is a common occurrence.

I’m crying; my tears are mingling with his hair. His eyes are wide, I can tell they’re struggling to stay open, to stay locked on mine.

I was always certain I would die in Snow’s arms. I always knew he would be the one to do it. I always knew that, when the time came, I would be too weak to stop it.

I never thought it would be the other way around. I never wanted to think I would one day be responsible for Snow’s death. I never dared to consider that I would plead for his return.

But his eyes are closed now, I think he can no longer hear me, and all I’m praying for is for someone to bring him back. _Please._

_Simon._

I hear footsteps rushing towards us, towards me holding Simon’s limp body with another one a few feet away. I lay Simon’s body down and run. All I take with me are my wand and the heat of his forehead under my lips.

* * *

  **SIMON**

**Fire closes in all around me. The trees look more monstrous as the leaves turn red, then turn to ash. Branches snap off and I never know if it’s from the fire or someone’s curse bouncing off.**

**He’s standing in the middle of the blazing forest, burning trees all around him. Who else would be responsible for this? His wand is pointed at me, but I can’t even react.**

**We’re simply staring at each other now, as we’ve done countless times before, always a contest to see who cracks first. Who’s weaker. Me, usually. He’s scarier than I am; add that to the list of things that make Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch a cooler mage than I could ever hope to be.**

**He doesn’t even need all his skills with a name like Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch. That’s a name that sends people running. No one would ever run away because of the Terrible Simon Snow. Or they would, but only because I’m too daft to keep from going off, not because I know what the bloody hell I’m doing.**

**His stare soon turns into a snarl, one I know well. His wand activates and his eyes are aflame, the fire reflected in them. My sword tries to repel his spells away, but he’s too skilled. Too bloody magnificent. I stand my ground, but he advances, unafraid, confident like he expected this. He must have known he would beat me. He always said it, I was _the worst Chosen One to ever be chosen._ I can’t control my magic, I can’t cast a spell or a shield. I can’t fight him.**

**The fire in my vision clears, slowly turns to black, like smoke engulfing my irises. It doesn’t hurt. I can feel the blood pooling around me, I can feel it under my fingers, but it doesn’t hurt. I can’t think about my body lying there, dying, because I am focusing on keeping my eyes open for as long as I can. So the last thing I see is the sky. Grey, like Baz’s eyes.**

* * *

**SIMON**

**Fire closes in all around me. The trees look more monstrous as the leaves turn red, then turn to ash. Branches snap off and I never know if it’s from the fire or someone’s curse bouncing off.**

**He’s standing in the middle of the blazing forest, burning trees all around him. Who else would be responsible for this? His wand is pointed at me.**

**I don’t hesitate. I lunge at him because every second is crucial and I won’t let him beat me. This is my destiny. For years, I’ve always been less than him. Less skilled on the pitch. And in class. Less cool. Less handsome. No proper manners or posh clothes. No family. Even Agatha, who I stupidly hoped wouldn’t care about those things, thought of me as less than him.**

**This won’t be another thing he can beat me at. I don’t care that he’s a vampire. I don’t care how powerful he is. I don’t care that this feud is stupid. He’s wrong. I’m not a fraud. I won’t let him think so any longer. I’m not. I’m _not._**

**I can beat him. No one thinks I’m good enough, but I _can._**

**My sword deflects his spells. I’m quick, but it’s almost like he’s giving me time to counter. Why isn’t he fighting harder? I yell as I run towards him, raging because I want to earn this. I deserve it. _You won’t take this away from me._ **

**But he’s unmoved. I can’t even successfully challenge him anymore. He looks broken. It’s not a good look. I can’t remember Baz ever not looking good.**

**I can’t remember him ever looking anything but perfect. That’s how I thought he’d look standing over me. Watching from above as I died from one of his masterful curses. I never pictured our positions would be reversed. That Baz would be the one on the ground, looking so pale—paler than he usually is—the vampire look became too obvious to be true.**

**I’ve killed before. Usually monsters, dark creatures. Never a person. I guess technically that’s still true. But then why do I feel like this is different? Baz isn’t just a dark creature. He’s a mage too. I never doubted that he was alive. He may be my enemy, but he’s a person. A boy.**

**I sink to my knees, my hands covered with his blood.**

**_Just a boy._ **

* * *

**SIMON**

**Fire closes in all around me. The trees look more monstrous as the leaves turn red, then turn to ash. Branches snap off and I never know if it’s from the fire or someone’s curse bouncing off.**

**He’s standing in the middle of the blazing forest, burning trees all around him.**

**I don’t want to do this. I’ve spent years fighting with him, but it never felt so real as it does in this moment. The idea that one of us has to finish the other off. The idea that the feud between us is so insurmountable that it can only end in death.**

**I remember being younger and wanting Baz to be my friend. I remember watching all the other blokes getting along with their roommates, becoming best friends with their roommates, and wishing it for myself. I always thought Baz would be a great friend. He was horrible to most people, but he was loyal to his friends. He would cut off the head of anyone who tried to mess with them. He was loyal to his family as well. His siblings were always overjoyed to see him at the end of each year. Baz was a vampire and yet his family loved him. I was always jealous of that.**

**Baz was also a terrific football player. He was mesmerizing. I could imagine summers spent at his house or in parks playing until sundown.**

**He was well read too. Penny always said if he weren’t such a git, he’d be a fascinating conversationalist. It usually made me feel stupider, how smart he was, but I could imagine being impressed by all of his knowledge, instead of resenting it. I grew up knowing so little about magic and its world that I could imagine Baz teaching me about all the things I had yet to discover.**

**And the thing that I hated most of all, Baz was a fantastic spell-caster. I’m sure he’d even become a better swordsman than me as well if he tried it. I hated it because we so often found ourselves on opposite sides, but it didn’t stop me from wondering what it would be like to be on the same side for once. I first thought about it when he set that chimera after me, supposedly only to scare me.**

**I wanted Baz to be my friend but, as we got older, his provocations and insults lessened and, instead of finding common ground, he resorted to silence. Maybe he no longer hated me, maybe he too was sick of fighting, but he certainly didn’t crave my company.**

**It hardly matters now that we’re standing ready to face off. But I can’t bring myself to do it. I am the greatest mage, I was prophesized, and I cannot bring myself to fight my roommate. Mages are counting on me to stop the war with the Old families, but I refuse to fight their leader. Because of a stupid Crucible who probably malfunctioned on the day Baz and I met. I’m a goddamn tragedy.**

**And so is he. Baz is walking towards me without malice. It’s almost as if he’s coming to greet me. I have a mad thought that he’ll shake my hand and offer me peace. I’d take it. He’s still holding his wand, in anticipation in case I ignore his apparent white flag and attack. I should. This may very well be the only chance I get. He surprised us with the fire; he could very well be planning to finish me off once he gets close enough. Seems too easy a victory for Baz, but he’s also unpredictable.**

**I never realized just how unpredictable. He stands before me, just inches away, and drops his wand before grabbing my opened coat and crushing my lips against his. My fingers release my sword without a second thought as they ache to grasp Baz’s hair. His hands move under my coat, to my waist, and he’s bringing me even closer until my entire body is pressed up against his.**

**He’s still too stiff, I can feel him holding back, whereas I move my hands from his hair, to his neck, to his cheeks, and back again, unable to control my need to touch his skin anywhere I can reach. His tongue brushes against my lips and I moan freely, encouraging him to let go. To trust that I’ll catch him. I bring my hands to his and I pull them away from my waist and intertwine his fingers with mine. Perfect fit.**

**I keep thinking I’ve been ready for this; I’ve wanted this for years. But I had no idea. Nor had I any idea that he wanted it too. So many days we could have spent doing this. In our room, in the mornings before class, after class, in the halls, on the lawn. Aleister Crowley, I can’t imagine ever stopping. I can feel him pulling away, but I hold on. I keep kissing him, breathing be damned. When we do break apart, our foreheads are touching. Our hands still hold tight and, when I open my eyes, I see the fire around us has turned blue and the closest trees have burned away. It’s not the craziest thing I’ve ever done when losing control, but Baz is looking at me in disbelief. His eyes are so close and his breath is harsh when he says my name, sending shivers on my wet lips.**

**I close my eyes. I can’t stop smiling. I can’t wait to do it again.**

 

I open my eyes.

* * *

BAZ

He’s beautiful. Standing at the head of the long table. Dressed smartly for once. Dark blue suit and silver tie. Bunce must have picked it out for him. He looks strong. Healed. Someone must have found him not long after I’d left.

His hospitalization was everywhere in the news. As was his statement about peace. But the real surprise came from the Old families agreeing to negotiations. Well, not so much the Old families, but me. My father gave me an earful. However, surprisingly, many members on the so-called council had wanted to avoid more losses. Fiona agreed with the premise, though she kept rolling her eyes whenever I mentioned Snow wasn’t like the Mage. He _wanted_ to include us, as made clear by the disbandment of the Mage’s merry men and the election of new members to represent the World of Mages. We may not have as much power as we used to, but it’s still significantly more then the Mage allowed. It’s fair. Any disgruntled family may take it up with me.

Fortunately, enough of the Old families are on my side to quieten the radicals and prevent an uprising. Almost half the seats on the new council also help pacify the lot of them. And Snow, for all his muttering and mumbling all throughout our schooling, proved himself to be a charming and passionate speaker. He no doubt also has the advantage of his magic, like dangling a bottle in front of a drunkard. Being in his presence is euphoric. Though Fiona says no one is quite as enthralled as me. She’s too observant.

She’s next to me now, walking into the round glass-walled conference room. I go stand opposite Snow, a mass of papers on the table between us. Treaties of peace, of new reforms to fix the old ones, of a new World of Mages. Snow is behind most of the new ideas, but the treaties make it clear that he has no intention of being a sole ruler. Nor the head of the new council. That position is up for election since he and I both turned it down. Bunce has my vote.

We sit down and each take a document to sign. It’s purely ceremonial, since our months-long negotiations ended with the signing of our treaty a few weeks ago. Spending all those long nights with Snow, and about twenty other people, reminded me how it used to be in school. Always in the same classes, always seeing him in the halls and on the bleachers, in our _room_ , and knowing I couldn’t have what I truly wanted. Negotiating was a nuisance; it seemed trivial when all I wanted to ask was how he was doing.

_“Snow. You look terrible,” I say instead of greeting him like a decent person would. Not that he expected any different._

_“That wasn’t a thank you,” he murmurs._

_“It’s not like you did_ me _any favours.” I only wish. “You simply cannot help yourself. Always have to be the hero.”_

_“Why do you always have to act the villain?” he retorts as his mad gaze latches onto mine._

_“It’s not an act.”_

_“Yes, it is,” he says firmly. Then, whispers, “You said my name.”_

_“Excuse me?”_

_He raises his voice. “You held me in your arms and you said my name.”_

_I tear my eyes away from his. “You were hit by a powerful curse. Your muddled brain must be playing tricks on you.”_

_“Stop,” he nearly shouts. “I remember your tears, your hands on my cheeks,” he says. Then, pauses, frowns, and quietly says, “your lips on…”_

_“What are yo—” But he walks away before I can ask._

Most of the talking was left to other people after that. Snow and I have always existed better in silence. I got to hear how he spent his time in the hospital thanks to our curious peers. As if I didn’t already know.

As if I hadn’t come by on the very first night, keeping to the shadows—my slow, almost non-existent, breathing masking my presence—and making sure he would be alright.

I had to leave when dawn broke and filled his room with light, before the morning shift started, before Bunce would come to visit after being ushered out too quickly the day before. But I came back. And watched him go from unconscious to asleep. From drained to bruised. I stayed like a stalker—a predator, more like—watching and unable to reach.

I imagined touching his curls, lying on the bed beside him and cooling off his over-heated body. He smelled different. _Wrong_. The smell of smoke lingered, but it was now mingled with disinfectant and blood—though I suppose only I could notice _that_ —rather than the heading smell of baked goods and flowery soap that usually made me want to lick his body like it was a snack. Because I’m disturbed. Ask anyone. 

It’s taking every restraint I have to stop myself from jumping on him, now that he looks and smells like my Simon again.

The signing is quickly over—though the applause lasts longer than I care for—and soon Fiona is ushering me out. I turn to follow, but steal a glance at Snow one last time. I can’t help it. I always come back to him.

He’s already looking at me. Not in anger, but like he doesn’t want me to go. It’s how I must be looking at him too. I faintly hear Fiona’s scoff and imagine her eyes rolling as she leaves along with everyone else. Everyone but Snow and me.

I stand by the door still opened behind me and wait for him to say something. A goodbye, I guess, now that we’re done and we don’t have to be in the same room again if we don’t wish it. (Maybe there’s a reason I managed to make the negotiations last several months.) But he’s not saying anything. I turn to walk out when his hand pushes the door closed before I can reach it.

“What are you doing, Snow?” I ask, my back still turned.

“You said my name,” he repeats. “You called me Simon.”

I don’t deny it. Maybe I can no longer fight this. Because he’s in his perfectly tailored suit, rosy lips as if he’d been biting them. He’s standing so bloody close I can feel his breath on the back of my neck, and I don’t want to fight it. I want to kiss him.

I turn around.

And then _he_ kisses _me_. 

My back hits the door and my hips push forward, colliding against Simon’s. We’re both starved. His mouth opens under my tongue and his teeth pull at my lips in a way I wish I could reciprocate. His fingers are tugging my hair free from the elastic band while mine are undoing his tie. My thigh is between both of his and I can’t stop a moan from escaping. When I finally throw the blasted tie on the floor and snap the top buttons of his dress shirt, my lips latch onto moles I’ve lost sleep over. He whimpers when my teeth _delicately_ brush his neck and brings my mouth back on his with a groan that sounds suspiciously like my name.

I don’t know how long we keep kissing and coming up for air for barely a few seconds at a time. Simon looks flushed, his hair is in disarray, and his jacket has joined his tie. Our hands still hold each other, grasping hair or clothing, while we catch our breath.

How could I ever let go?

 

SIMON

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” Baz says.

I grin. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?” I could’ve been snogging Baz for years. I shiver to think about it.

“Because we were enemies,” he says as though I was daft for even asking. “Because you had a girlfriend. Because I never thought you could feel the same way.”

My hands slide from his hair to the back of his neck, bringing his head down and his forehead on my own. I swallow and lick my lips. “I’m not sure I know exactly how I feel, but I know I’ve felt it for a while even if I didn’t realise it until now. Or admit it.” I cradle his face in my hand, my thumb on his cheek, when his eyes close. I smile. “Because we were enemies.” My nose moves up the slope of his. “Because I had a girlfriend.” Our lips brush. “And because I never thought you could feel the same way.” I kiss him again.

And again and again.

 

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing for this fandom.  
> Let me know your thoughts :)


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